


mixed relationship

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Cuddling, F/F, Massage, lesbian couple, moved from hetalia kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Moved from hetalia-kink. Link to original in notes. Isabelle is Spain, Marianne is France.)</p><p>An asexual girl and a non asexual girl are in love. </p><p>It's not a tragedy. </p><p>[They don't 'do it' anyways. They find a compromise, and learn how to cater to each other's needs without pressing too far.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	mixed relationship

**Author's Note:**

> This has been modified quite a bit from my original fill: http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/84399.html?thread=511688879 
> 
> This version is much higher quality, and actually keeps the same verb tense.

Marianne can't help but fawn a bit when she sees how peaceful her sweetheart looks lying on the edge of the bed, dark brown hair astray and spread around her, curls going every which way. Granted, Isabelle's hair was only a shade or two darker than Marianne's own, but her skin was darker, too, if partly from the sun even without genetics, and the complimenting colors sometimes makes Marianne weak at the knees. 

Her Spanish lover is beautiful. 

With a figure men and women alike would die for, and a cheerful confidence (if almost matronly at times), Isabelle is beauty and grace and, unlike Marianne, it remains even when she is lying on her back, like this, arms splayed out with delicate fingertips curled into the sheets and eyelashes long and dark against her cheeks. Her beauty remains regardless of makeup or fancy clothes. 

With parted lips that were no doubt parched--oh, hadn't she learned to sleep breathing through her nose?--Isabelle lets a few sleepy mumbles through, sounding thick and slow with sleep. It's a wonderful sound, the Frenchwoman thinks, finally moving towards the edge of the bed next to her. However, the movement makes Isabelle stir, and she moves away so she won't wake her sweetheart. It's a bit too late now, though, and Isabelle's eyes open, sleepy and confused, and Marianne can't picture anything more beautiful. 

"Good morning," Marianne whispers, stroking her hands through Isabelle's hair. "Enjoy your nap? I'm sorry I woke you, cherie. Any way I can make up for it?"

The tone is a bit suggestive but it soon becomes clear that Isabelle is far too tired for this conversation, as her brow simply furrows. "Sorry. It's been a long day at work. Didn't mean to fall asleep." And Isabelle didn't exactly sound grouchy but it isn't her normal, chipper, tone, either. There's a certain tenseness to it, too, which makes Marianne's lips pull into a small frown as she kisses Isabelle's brow. 

It shouldn't be a surprise that Isabelle didn't want such suggestive tones--Marianne feels awful for forgetting, even for a moment, what Isabelle prefers.  
After all, her lover is beautiful, but not sexual. It isn't chastity or virginity fighting to be preserved. Isabelle is asexual and Marianne, unused to it but far too in love to think any less of her lover (and why should she, anyways?), sometimes forgets it. Her words are as sweet as they are suggestive, and the mixed bag makes Isabelle uncomfortable at times, especially when she is caught unawares, as she has been today. 

As she hates this guilty feeling, the Frenchwoman knows she must make this right. Marianne coaxes Isabelle to turn and lie on her stomach, ignoring the almost icy feeling she was getting from her. It took a moment for her to realize why she was so resistant, however. 

Is her lover really worried that Marianne was only after that...? 

It almost hurt but she couldn't find it in herself to be upset. Isabelle was obviously stressed and not feeling her best, so Marianne couldn't find it in her to say anything but reassurances. How could Marianne even suggest it when she knows her sweetheart isn't interested and likely never will be? "Isabelle. Relax, cherie, really. I'm not so cruel as to try to make love. Especially not right now. You look so tense, though--may I help?" 

That last question was punctuated with hands gently pressing against Isabelle's shoulders and upper back. Her delicate fingertips press firmly into her skin, past the softness on top before working down, down, down. The knots aren't hard to find as her fingertips press deeper into soft, then knotted, then tense tissue.

Isabelle winces when Marianne first finds the knotted muscles there. "Ah--Marianne... Querida, please, I just need rest," she tries to say, but Marianne's lips press gently to the back of her neck and her fingers grip more insistently, pressing in and working out the soreness. Isabelle's protests die. It's the most pleasurable thing she can remember feeling in a long time and, lacking sexual urges, she supposes it's the closest thing she will feel to them. But it's hard not to feel tense, wondering if Marianne is simply trying to make her feel things that she doesn't know how to feel. 

"Tell me what feels best," Marianne says softly, voice gentle as if she is trying to soothe a headache which, admittedly, is probably present with how tightly Isabelle's eyes are closed against the light. Marianne switches off the lamp beside the bed and kisses down her neck and shoulders, hands working against her lower back now. And there are more knots there, more even than her shoulders which were rather impressive, and Marianne winces in sympathy. "Shh... It's alright, cherie. I promise. No more than what you need."

God. Isabelle almost wanted to right them, if just to make her lover happier, because her hands were sinfully sweet against her skin after such a long day. 

But she can't give Marianne more than this. Maybe sometime, if ever she feels comfortable giving something she does not feel, but certainly not today. 

"Gently," Isabelle insists and finally, finally lets her limbs relax. Her arms splay to the sides and her legs no longer try to support her up. Her thighs relax, going softer and more pliable--more feminine, though the firmness of muscle still lies beneath. Finally, Isabelle is relaxing, though it is still difficult to work out all the knots, as they are thick and likely painful to touch. Worrying that she is failing her lover, Marianne presses more kisses over her sweetheart's neck and shoulders and between them. 

"You have been stressed lately," Marianne says and applies more force, more pressure, her satisfaction growing as she feels one knot undo itself. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Despite the sweet tone, Isabelle feels guilty of the accusation, and her hands clutch at the sheets nearest her fingertips even if she doesn't tense up. (It's too hard to feel tense with Marianne doing such kind things to her back.) "You're busy too. I'm fine, querida, really. Just... Ah--" The last sound echoes out before Isabelle can finish her thought. A particularly stubborn knot had clenched, resistant to the ministrations but had come undone in a mess of released tension and it's all Isabelle can do not to moan. 

However, though she'd answered, Isabelle had lied. More than anything, she was worried that a scene with a past lover would be repeated, that they'd try to solve it with sex, and Marianne was so sexual--how could she not want that, too?

Instead of giving the truth, she stayed silent after that, trying to just relax and live and let live. 

"Feeling better?" 

There is almost a teasing tone to it. Marianne kisses her way back up her back, satisfied that the knots are out. 

Isabelle just nods, boneless, and doesn't bother moving. 

Understanding that Isabelle probably still wants to sleep, Marianne wraps her arms around her and presses a few kisses to her neck and cheek and lies next to her, shifting Isabelle onto her side where she will be more comfortable. 

"Sleep well, my love," Marianne whispers and it could have been a command had Isabelle not known the Frenchwoman was smiling. 

Isabelle hums, leaning her head against the others shoulder. "I don't feel as tired now."

With a light laugh, Marianne smiles and kisses her brow. "Oh? I'm perfectly fine continuing, you know," she says with that tone earlier, the suggestive one, and Isabelle tenses once more. This time Marianne picks up on it immediately. "Cherie?"

"It's nothing," Isabelle says, closing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Obviously it isn't," the Frenchwoman replies. 

There is a pause, a silence that hangs in the room, hovering over them. Finally Isabelle simply presses against Marianne and rests her head against the others shoulder. There is a silence still but it's easier now, as Isabelle tries to collect herself. 

"I don't want sex." 

It's a rather blunt declaration and it freezes the moment to silence once more. After a beat, Marianne sighs. "I know that," she says. "You told me when we started dating. I would never try to force it on you. You know that."

She hesitates a moment, then asks, "Did I... Make you uncomfortable, with the massage"

"No," Isabelle says, frustrated with how hard it is to clarify. "But with your words, sometimes. I want to be able to make you happy. To give you what you need but..."

Marianne kisses her temple, holding her close. "Don't worry about a thing," she says fiercely, determined. "You are precious to me. I will never grow tired of you or try to force you into anything. I love you. And anyways, sex is... And, I didn't think I would ever truly feel this, but here it is: Sex is an accessory. It's not what I am dating you for, obviously. If I truly felt that, do you really think I would still be here? I'm still here, oui?"

"I know you are, but... It's hard not to worry, si? I'm from the Country of Passion, and yet..." Isabelle sighs and wraps her arms around her as well. To lift the mood, she changes the subject. "I really liked the massage," she says. "Maybe...?"

"Maybe what, ma cherie?"

A slight redness takes over Isabelle's cheeks. "Maybe instead of sex we could...? I wouldn't mind, if it was just touching. Do you want to?"

The question is marked by a hand slowly creeping down to Marianne's lower back, resting just above her rear, in the soft space she knows Marianne has a tattoo of a rose. However, a slight redness stains Marianne's cheeks, and more than anything she appears startled, so Isabelle removes her hand.

"We don't have to, though." Isabelle looks up into Marianne's eyes, and is startled to see that Marianne looks determined.

"I want to," Marianne says. She moves Isabelle's hand back to where it had been, then rests a hand carefully, as if she's unsure if she's allowed, onto Isabelle's firm hips. "Promise me you'll stop me if I get too carried away."

"I will," the Spaniard replies and shyly leans upwards to kiss her lover on the lips. 

The kiss is passionate, loving: the best qualities of their relationship coming together. Isabelle, having always thrown herself into everything she did, did so with this as well. And Marianne was tender by nature, always so careful with love, and her steadiness was reassuring to the younger, so unused to kisses that would lead to anything more than a hand against her hip or breast. 

"Where do you like to be touched?" the Spaniard whispered. 

Marianne laughs, a real one, full of the happiness she always felt when Isabelle was being particularly sweet. "You can find out for yourself. I'm not shy. If you start making me feel a bit... too much, I'll just move your hands elsewhere. Oui?" 

Now set with a purpose, Isabelle nods and kisses her again. Their bodies are different, she notes. Isabelle is only soft in a few places--muscle prominent in her arms, her middle, her hips and thighs and calves. She's no stranger to hard work, and often enjoys it. Her job is less active than it once was, but she still goes to the gym when she has free time, and even her hobbies are fairly active. 

But Marianne is different. While not overweight, there's a softness over her, head to toe. Her hips especially; Isabelle wants to grip them properly, wants to know if Isabelle would be comfortable in her lap, wants to press sweet kisses against the fullness Marianne wears. She wants to make Marianne feel confident, loved, even more so than she knows her lover already is. And yet, there's something almost funny about such differences between them, and Isabelle can't help it--she presses giddy kisses against Marianne's shoulder, chest, and upper belly. They're mischievous, with honest, earnest laughter Isabelle doesn't try to hide. 

"What's so funny?" Marianne asks and pouts. There was just a spark of self consciousness and she wonders, briefly, why her body was laughable for Isabelle to explore for the first time. 

Those insecurities were silenced by a kiss on the forehead and a sincere smile. "You're beautiful. Muy bonita. I get lost in your eyes. They're so blue... And your body makes me so happy, Marianne. It matches you well, si? Sweet, and a little spoiled, and soft and warm." 

Isabelle's voice, Marianne thinks, is like honey. The words, sweet and soothing to small insecurities, are even more so. 

Isabella grins and moves closer, hands slipping gently, ever so slowly, under her shirt. Not wanting to be left behind in this, Marianne does the same and kisses her tenderly, lovingly. Her hands grip Isabelle's strong hips, fingertips pressing more firmly against the curve of her rear. 

"Beautiful," someone says. It doesn't matter who, not really, because both are thinking it.

Isabelle lets out a supremely satisfied sigh and leans more into the others touch, loving the affection and the soft hands tracing over her hips and sides and god, she couldn't remember ever feeling more physically loved. 

Already the Frenchwoman feels heat building in her, heat unwelcome in this situation, and she knows she has to stop if she doesn't want to get carried away. So she pulls away after a moment and presses a chaste kiss against Isabelle's temple.

"Marianne?" Isabelle asks, not having expected things to stop. "Marianne. Are you alright?"

The elder just nods and takes her hand. "Wonderful. But if we continue this much longer I think it might become frustrating for us both, oui?" Her other hand comes up to comb through Isabelle's hair, and she smiles sweetly--no bitterness to be seen--before continuing. "Let's just cuddle for a bit, oui?"

Though she had wanted longer to enjoy this simple affection, Isabelle can see Marianne is at a limit of sorts, so she nods her head and gets comfortable, moving to the edge of the bed to give them each enough space to change. 

As always, they prefer sleeping in minimal clothing--Marianne in a matching set of a lacy bra and panties, and Isabelle in brightly colored panties and a mis-matched bra. Marianne folds her clothes and sets them aside for later use while Isabelle carelessly tosses hers over the side, stretching and lying down, waiting for her French lover to join her properly so she can bring the covers down over them both. 

Marianne, on the edge of the bed, turns her head to face Isabelle, and there's a certain fondness there. Not wanting to keep her waiting, she slides in next to her and wastes no time tangling their legs and wrapping an arm around Isabelle's waist. 

"Je t'aime," Marianne whispers into Isabelle's ear. 

Isabelle smiles and pills her closer, kissing her chastely on the lips. "Te amo."

They fall asleep like that, and come morning there will be a mess of limbs to sort out, and equally tangled hair, but it's a position they'll never give up. Because even if the bed is reserved for sleep and cuddling, and only sleep and cuddling, it's still theirs. And it's still the place they feel most at home.


End file.
